Earth our great mother,
For thousands of years you
have been raising us to your arena.
Though our lives are like candles in the
Wind, through absurdity that fills your
Surface.
Mother still your raining blessings overwhelm
our desert, that we feed with joy in our
Distress.
When will you stop nursing Sisyphus,
When will absurdity end in your surface.
But pain is gainful in your arena.
Mother now that you are growing older
As time expires, lives in you also expire.
According to the book
you will soon melt.
I wonder how it will be after your reign
through your devilish silentness in the
Midnight.
A clock epitaph for your grave.
